


Endurance

by HiddenSt0rms



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hurt, Ishbal | Ishval, Ishval Civil War, Nausea, Oneshot, Survivor Guilt, Whump, heat exhaustion, young Riza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27815437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenSt0rms/pseuds/HiddenSt0rms
Summary: Riza wants to protest. This is wrong. She shouldn’t get medical attention, she doesn’t deserve it. Not when so many innocent Ishvalans are suffering at her hands. Physical pain is the least of what her punishment should be.~Riza suffers from heat exhaustion during the Ishval Civil War.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Endurance

No one can tell where hell ends and sky begins in the Ishvalan desert. Coase sand dunes stretch for miles, bleeding into the horizon where the real danger of the war lies. Unfortunately for Riza and the other Amestrian soldiers, the Ishvalan sun is as unavoidable as it is unforgiving.

Riza shoots her gun, then rubs her clammy forehead with the heel of her hand. She’s used to dehydration headaches by now, but this one feels way worse. What started as a mild ache this morning is now a pulsing throb between her ears. The persistent ringing of the gunshots isn’t helping, although that pales in comparison to the severity of the real culprits.

Temperatures are scorching before the sun even rises and clean water is limited. Many soldiers have already succumbed to the elements, having been dragged unconscious to medical tents. Whether they were dead or alive, Riza doesn’t know. And at this point, she doesn’t want to. She tries not to think about it, shifting her attention to the next target.

She misses. Granted it’s a small margin of error, but it’s enough for the Ishvalan to run and seek cover. She’s mortified at her twinge of disappointment from making such a mistake.

Riza can’t dwell on that thought for long before she’s shooting again. The bullet lands several feet away from her target, busting a window instead. Maybe she’d have better aim if she could focus, but it’s too hot. She drops the gun and forces her eyes closed, willing the darkness to somehow absorb her headache. No such luck. 

When she opens them again, blurriness coats her vision. It doesn’t matter. She needs to succeed in her next target, which is...next target is...where’s the next target? No, she needs to pick up the gun...first...where’d she put it?

What was she doing again?

This isn’t safe anymore. She can’t keep a straight line of thought, let alone safely operate a gun on a battlefield. If she’s being honest with herself, it’s not even just a headache anymore. Crouching in one spot is draining, her muscles cramping and begging her to lie down. And to make matters worse, an awful ache is forming in the pit of her stomach.

It’s just so damn hot. The cloth cloak and uniform trap so much extra heat but only an idiot would take them off, unless they wanted to face a debilitatingly dangerous sunburn. Riza really has no other choice but to tough it out. 

She’s not dumb, play as she must in the eyes of the Ishvalans. She knows what’s going on. Basic military training taught her to recognize these signs and immediately seek medical attention. But such simplicity doesn’t translate to the battlefield, and certainly not a battlefield where she’s the antagonist. 

It’s not a matter of whether or not Riza can withstand it. She has to, under obligation to not only the military, but her own moral as well. After a shaky deep breath, Riza picks up her gun and starts firing again.

This new resolve doesn’t last long. Her stomach is making itself as known as her head. This can’t be happening. Not here, not now. She swallows against her dry throat and tries to carry on. She can hold it until the bell rings to commence break, whenever (and if ever) that is. She can make it.

She can’t. The feeling is too much to fight now. Dropping her gun, Riza leans to the side and gags towards the ground. Of course nothing comes up. The heat has zapped her appetite for days. She’s not sure if it’s relieving or not. Her stomach flips again and she gives a weak, pained cough.

“Damn it, girl. Shut up! You’re gonna blow our cover.” 

The gruff voice comes from a nearby sniper at his post, an intense looking man lying on his stomach behind a broken wall. His gun is pointed through a small hole barely big enough to see through. He shoots and furrows his brow at Riza. “Yeah, you! Get the hell out of here if you’re gonna give away our position!” 

The interaction is lost in the fogginess of Riza’s mind. The sniper seems unhappy. Has she done something to upset him? No, that can’t be. She’s just doing her job and feels a little sick. Why would that make him mad? Wait, didn’t he tell her to leave? That must be it.

Riza can’t pull enough thoughts together to understand why, but she complies. When she tries to stand, black eats away at the corners of her vision and she buckles to her hands and knees. That same sniper curses and yells out something. Weird, she thinks. Why is he being loud now? Aren’t they supposed to be quiet?

“Get up!”

A new voice. Riza feels herself being yanked to standing, but her legs don’t do a good job at supporting her. Most of her weight leans against whoever it is. Through half-lidded eyes, she makes out a white bag with a red cross. It must be a medic. 

“Come on, get moving! We don’t have time!” The medic’s voice roars in Riza’s ears among the sound of gunshots. Riza finally registers that she’s being pulled to a medical tent. 

Riza wants to protest. This is wrong. She shouldn’t get medical attention, she doesn’t deserve it. Not when so many innocent Ishvalans are suffering at her hands. Physical pain is the least of what her punishment should be.

Growing impatient, the medic scoops Riza up bridal-style and sprints to the tent. He lays her down on a cot and gets to work putting a cool cloth on her forehead and nudging a pail of water to her lips. 

“Drink. You got damn lucky.” He says.

Riza’s mind is disconnected from her body. She guzzles the water and savors the coolness as guilt rips at her heart. Why is she, a mass-murderer, the one receiving medical treatment? What about the Ishvalans out there suffering with no end or hope in sight? A little heat exhaustion is nothing in comparison to losing one’s community, friends, family and then their own life.

But Riza can’t let these thoughts overwhelm her or get in the way of her military service. After all, she wants to protect people - eventually. If this war is the way leading to that path, then she’ll have to endure.


End file.
